


Sugar Baby, Can't You See You're Gonna Be the Death of Me

by humblepirate



Series: Love Me Dead universe [5]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blowjobs, Cowgirl Position, Dirty Talk, Hickies, NSFW, Praise Kink, Sub!Klaus, Substance Abuse, Teasing, gender neutral reader, handsjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate
Summary: Klaus gets dicked down. That's it, that's the story.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Reader
Series: Love Me Dead universe [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1403851
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Sugar Baby, Can't You See You're Gonna Be the Death of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is the single-chapter version of a scene from my chaptered fic, Love Me Dead. This excerpt is taken from chapters 20 and 21. Check out the "Love Me Dead Universe" collection to which this story belongs for the full story!

It’s one of those summer days where the world seems to be standing still. No sound of cars rolling by or birds singing indicates that there is any life left at all; just the slow, shimmering heat rolling off the pavement and the lawns crackling brown.

Klaus had woken up alone and naked, sweat soaking into the bedsheets and plastering his errant curls to his forehead. He stretches and immediately grunts at the shock of pain that strikes his abdomen. 

Being shot is a real bitch.

He calls out for his roommates and is met with heavy silence. Probably down in the basement, scheming or making out or whatever they do when he’s asleep. He rolls out of bed, shrugs a pair of sweatpants over his hips, and, biting his lip against the pain, hobbles out of the bedroom into the hallway. 

Thompson, who had been snoozing on the doggy bed, hops up with a yawn and trots after Klaus, sniffing around his ankles.

“Shoo, shoo,” Klaus mumbles, waving a dismissive hand at the puppy. Thompson regards him with unamusement for a few moments before sneezing loudly and wandering off to find another place to nap.

Klaus pauses outside the bathroom door. The apartment is silent, and that should worry him, but he’s got more important things on his mind. He glances down the hallway once more before slipping into the bathroom and quietly shutting the door behind him.

The tile is unexpectedly cool on his bare feet. He moves so carefully he can hear the creaking of his muscles, each movement deliberate. He stands in front of the sink, hands trembling, purposefully avoiding the sight of his drained and sweat-soaked reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. The bottle sits right at eye level, a rich blue that calls to him like a siren. 

“Come to daddy,” he mutters as he plucks it off the shelf. He tucks the bottle into his waistband and reaches up to close the cabinet, just as he’d left it.

He’s avoided looking at himself for a very long time. Going back to his childhood home (sorry excuse for a home that it was) had dredged up a whole lot of deeply repressed memories. He’s sober now, more sober than he’s been in a while, and the ghosts have been needling their way into the fringes of his attention. It’s affecting him more than he’d like to admit. 

Seeing his father again, as much as he hates it, has weakened him, like the last thirteen years never happened and he’s still a scared child pissing his pants in a mausoleum.

Now, though, for some reason, his reflection makes him pause.

In the golden rays of the afternoon sun, his complexion looks ghastly and jaundiced. He’s lost weight, not that there was much meat on him to begin with. Stark cheekbones and damp curls plastered to his forehead. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days and the scruff on his jaw is starting to resemble an honest-to-god beard. It makes him look dangerous.

Beneath his jawline, stamped into his throat like a brand, is a cluster of fresh scarlet hickies. He trails his finger over the marks, still tender, and his heart stutters at the thrill of pain that rushes through him. He bites his lip and presses down again, harder, and his lips part on an unexpected moan. The familiar buzz of arousal starts up.

Okay, so, that’s… new.

He’s just sliding a hand into his sweatpants when it brushes against the hastily stashed bottle of painkillers. Right- he’d forgotten the original purpose for this little mission. He retrieves the bottle, slides two pills into his palm and dry swallows them before returning to his task.

With one hand he presses against the hickies painting his skin, splashes of red ringed with violet and blue like an acidic sunset. It’s the kind of pain that aches like an itch, a bug bite in a spot you can’t reach, pleasant to scratch but not quite satisfying. The feeling shoots straight to his cock, which is already starting to tent the fabric of his pants. He runs a hand down his thigh, close but not actually touching, and the nearness of it, the almost -ness, makes his heart flutter against the bars of his rib cage.

He licks his lips and takes a shaky breath to calm himself. He doesn’t know where the instinct to keep quiet came from, but he can’t escape the sensation that there is something deeply forbidden and naughty about what he’s doing, and that fact makes it all the more _delicious_. He gives himself one firm, slow stroke over his pants and has to bite his lip to hold back a groan. 

His other hand presses against the bruises again, hard enough to constrict his airflow; he feels the champagne-sparkle dizziness of oxygen deprivation and his entire body gives a shudder of approval. He only stops when the shadows start to edge into his field of vision. Everything is tingly, like being high except even better, like being lifted away on a cloud, his blood sings and it doesn’t really hurt anymore, it’s just _good_. 

He braces his arm against the mirror and spits into his other hand, slips it beneath his waistband and the glass steams over with his moan of gratification. Arousal sparks like sunbursts in his veins, warming his chilled bones.

He tightens his grip and a visceral memory jumps to the front of his mind, of hands bound and helpless while you tease him right along the edge. Along it, but not over it, not quite yet, he wants to relish it. He’s a little high, a little lovesick, and having you there would be ideal but right now he’s more than content with touching himself to the memory of your teeth.

He swipes a thumb over the head and fuck that is nice. The burst of pleasure makes his jaw drop, his eyes pop open. He sees his reflection and is briefly enamored with the chaos of it. A bead of sweat rolls over his temple, his tongue peeks out just over his lower lip, panting, gagging for it. His Adam’s apple bobs at the tempo of his stifled whimpers and he’s mad with it.

He shifts his weight to the heel of his hand and flexes his fingers against the glass. He’s warm, so warm and he thinks if he just presses a bit harder he would sink right into the mirror. He allows himself a bit of indulgence and admires the cut of his jaw beneath the scruff, more prominent and severe than he can remember it being. He looks dangerous and vulnerable. 

“Having fun?”

Klaus jerks back with a shout and slams into the wall behind him. He flounders for a moment before winning the battle against gravity and plopping gracelessly onto the rim of the bathtub. 

He subconsciously presses a hand to the wound on his side. “It’s not nice to sneak up on people,” he says. “I’m in a very fragile state right now, you know.”

You roll your eyes and offer him a hand on instinct, but when he tries to take it he just phases right through.

He sticks his lip out pathetically. “This day just keeps getting better,” he mumbles as he hauls himself back to his feet.

He starts for the door, but you move to block his exit. You nod in the direction of his waist, lifting a meaningful eyebrow.

“An early morning bathroom tryst, hm?” His lips slide into a mischievous smirk and he braces his hands on either side of the doorframe, looming in the way only he can. “I think I’m turning you into quite the little deviant.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” you deadpan.

He sticks his lower lip out and leans toward you, close enough that you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. “Why won’t you let me have any fun ?” he whispers.

“Because I’m the fun police,” you reply. “Now give it.”

He cocks his head to the side, mulling over his options, and opts for flippant. “I’ve no idea what you mean,” he says airily as he struts directly through you.

You follow him to the living room, where he drapes himself over the couch. You pause and take a moment to admire him, lanky body and tousled brown curls, bruises dotting his torso like sprinkles on a cupcake, the dramatic pout of his lips in characteristic stubbornness. Grumpy, but breathing and alive.

You lean against the doorframe and give him a patient smile. “Just because you got shot doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, mister.” You hold out a hand toward him. “Pills, now.”

He kicks the back of the couch with a petulant huff. “You never let me have my way,” he whines.

“Give me the pills,” you reply, “and you can have me _any_ way you want.”

That gets his attention. He perks up and turns to you with barely concealed excitement. “I’m listening.”

You push off the wall and take a step toward him. “I don’t want to watch you poison yourself.” You take another step, hips sliding seductively. “You give me the pills...” His eyes widen. “Take only the recommended dosage, and let me hold onto them the rest of the time.”

You stop a hair’s breadth from him, looking down at him in a way both empowering and trusting, knowing he’ll put his pleasure in your hands without question. “And if you’re good...” 

Slowly, you trail your fingers up your thighs and hook them in the belt loops of your jeans, tugging the fabric down to reveal a sliver of skin. It’s hardly anything, but you can hear Klaus’s breath stutter at the sight. He clenches his hands into trembling fists and presses them into his thighs.

“...Do I get a reward?” he whispers hoarsely.

The dominant smirk you give him robs the last remnants of his self-control. He melts under your gaze, relaxing into the couch cushions with a bitten-off gasp, fists tightening in the fabric of his sweatpants. His thighs part just enough that you can see the prominent tent between them.

You laugh softly. “Do you think you can manage that?”

He nods quickly, eyes widening. “I can tr-try.” He swallows again and gnaws on his lower lip, like it’s taking every bit of his willpower not to jump your bones right there.

You unzip your fly with one hand and slide the other beneath your shirt. “If I give you your reward now, do you think you can be good for the rest of the day?”

“Yes,” he croaks. He’s transfixed by the phantom shape of your hand stroking over your chest, still concealed beneath your shirt. You close your eyes for a moment, focused on your own pleasure, teasing yourself with slow, tight circles over your nipple. 

Then you pinch _hard_ , twisting the soft skin between your fingers, and your mouth falls open on a gasp. It hurts in the most beautiful kind of way and you’re not thinking when you press your other hand flat against the inseam of your pants.

When you open your eyes, Klaus’s own are wide with desire. His teeth are leaving bloody indents in his lip and his knuckles are white with how hard he’s clenching them. But he doesn’t beg, doesn’t protest, just accepts what you offer him even though he’s looking at you like he’s starving.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” you murmur.

A hot flush rushes to his cheeks and he nods, beautiful and obedient, and an emotion you can’t identify squeezes your ribcage. You hold out your hand.

“Then give me the pills.”

He reaches into his sweatpants and with comical speed tosses the pill bottle over his shoulder, where it clatters behind the couch. 

He stares up at you in desperation. “Please,” he says in a tone just bordering on a whine, “please c-can I touch myself for you?”

You pinch your nipple again and have to fight to keep your eyes open against the shock of pleasure. You swipe over it with the pad of your thumb, soothing the sting, the thick simmer of arousal. Klaus’s chin trembles.

You remove your other hand from your jeans and trace a finger over your lips, tongue darting out to brush your fingertip. Your eyes are locked on Klaus’s, on the need and desperation welling there, and you think about licking the tears from his cheek while he strokes himself to orgasm. 

The memory of his graceful fingers pressing into the bruises your teeth had left on his throat while his other hand had moved beneath his sweatpants is the closest you’ll ever get to religion.

With that image still prominent in your mind, you slide your finger into your mouth and give a hard suck. It’s theatrical and exaggerated for Klaus’s benefit, and he is eating. It. _Up_. You moan around the digit, let yourself get a little sloppy with the tongue, just how he likes it. You’re putting on a show for him, for your perfect boy who’s inflating your ego with every labored breath as he struggles to keep his hands still.

His voice cracks on a whine. “Not fair.”

Slowly, achingly slowly, you draw your finger out of your mouth and let it linger spit-slick and coquettish on your lower lip. “You wish that was your cock?” you murmur, and he visibly shudders. “You want me to tie up your wrists and take you apart with my mouth? Want me to tease you so nicely?” 

You slowly lower yourself to your knees and glare darkly from beneath your eyelashes. “Because I want it more than anything, baby.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. His fingers dig into the fabric of his sweatpants with a trembling grip.

It’s starting to grow warm in here, almost muggy, and sweat clings to your lower back. Without preamble you grab the hem of your shirt and jerk it up over your head, tossing it somewhere to the side, and at the sight of your upper body bared to him Klaus wheezes violently.

Something constricts, briefly, around your heart, a flash of pleasure that leaves you light-headed. You still have the upper hand, but there’s no denying how amped up you’re getting from all the teasing. It’s an itch you’re dying to scratch, but not yet, not yet- this is supposed to be about Klaus.

“Go ahead,” you say sweetly. He just stares at you, vacant and disoriented, and you smirk. “Touch yourself,” you clarify.

He swallows, hands trembling on his thighs. He glances up at the ceiling, sweeps the room, then back to you. He chews anxiously on his lip, like he’s waiting for you to rescind the permission, but when you say nothing, he swallows again and reaches for his waistband.

He’s not wearing underwear, and his cock springs free as soon as he shoves his sweatpants down his thighs. It’s amusing how hard and ready he is when you haven’t even touched him. You take a moment to admire the sight of his kiss-bitten torso, which flows into slim, hairless thighs (when he found the time to wax them, you have no idea) and the most flawless calves you’ve ever seen. His cock is flushed and leaking and it looks like a piece of precious art, something miraculous and masterful, and- jesus, your mouth is actually watering.

You’re overtaken with the urge to touch him. You reach up to caress his thigh, but your fingers phase right through, like passing through thick smoke. Klaus giggles at your disappointed pout.

“How does it feel?” he teases.

You very maturely stick your tongue out at him.

“Trust me,” he sighs, “there’s no one more upset about it than me.”

He kicks his pants all the way off and leans against the back of the couch. His eyes slide back to you, eager and obedient, like he doesn’t fully believe you’ll let him. You give him a gentle smile and lean forward, bracing your hands on your thighs.

“Go on, baby,” you murmur. “Put on a show for me.”

He gasps and holds his body taut, anxious; then he wraps a trembling hand around his cock, and all his hesitation releases in a rush.

He strokes himself carefully, like he wants to draw it out for as long as possible, like he has nothing but time. Which, you suppose, he does. His head falls against the back of the couch and his eyes drift shut, jaw going slack as he jerks himself off. It’s fucking divine. Your hands drag over the couch cushion on either side of his thighs and you feel dizzy with the need to touch him.

“Fuck, Klaus,” you groan. You lick your lips at the sight of the precum dribbling out of his cock and slicking the motion of his hand.

He lifts his head and looks at you with those impossible bedroom eyes of his. “How’re you liking the show, love?”

You smirk and shuffle back so he can better see you. You spread your knees wider, showing off, teasing him. Then you unbutton your jeans and slide a hand into your underwear, gasping as you properly stroke yourself for the first time after all the teasing.

Klaus buries his teeth in his bottom lip and his hand speeds up on his cock. His free hand jumps to his nipple and begins to tug and pinch, drawing a groan from deep in his throat. He opens his thighs a bit wider and you can see that they’re trembling.

“Good boy,” you coo. He whines and lets go of his nipple to rake the fingers through his curls in frustration.

“I wanna touch you so badly,” he moans. “Christ, I need it. I don’t think I’m capable of getting off without you anymore.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “That’s hot.”

“I mean it! Any time I try to jerk off by myself, I think about your hands, your mouth on my cock- your voice telling me what a naughty boy I am…” He swallows thickly. “I literally can’t come unless I imagine it’s you.”

A wave of heat rushes over you and prickles your skin. There is so much you want to say to him- how you think about him all the time, you want to be the only one who makes him feel this good, you want to own him, fuck him so hard he can’t move without thinking about you and getting turned on again- but the words stick in your throat. 

“I...” You swallow against the overwhelming emotion building in your chest. “I w-want…”

Your fingers speed up on yourself, bolstered by his admission and the beautiful way his body shudders as he touches himself to you. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispers. “Anything, tell me, anything at all and I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart twists, adoration mixing with arousal to bubble up in your chest and create a watery laugh. “I wanna touch you, Klaus, so badly.” You reach up to stroke his knee and sigh when your hand goes right through.

With a shuddering groan, Klaus slows the motions of his hand and then stops completely. You stop as well, raising an eyebrow in question, but all he offers is a weak smile. Then he extends his free hand toward you. When he says nothing more, you shrug and place your palm on top of it.

It’s weird, like heat rolling off the asphalt in summertime- you can almost feel something tangible there, but still too unstable to grasp. He squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up in concentration. The air is heavy and warped, like an especially humid day, thick enough that you can feel it clinging to your skin. Something thrums through you, an almost intangible shudder.

Then your fingers brush Klaus’s wrist and his eyes shoot open and lock on yours in wide wonder.

Immediately he grabs your wrist and tugs you up onto his lap. You land with your knees framing his hips, and you can feel him, really feel him- the sweat on his palms, his soft, excited breaths puffing across your cheek, his cock pressing against your thigh. He cups your face in his hands and drinks you in with disbelief.

“I did it,” he whispers. His fingers brush over your cheeks, your nose, your chin; then before you can fully register that this is real and definitely not a dream, he surges forward and draws you into a kiss that _aches_.

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of kissing Klaus. He tastes like sleep and sunshine, his stubble scratches your skin in the best way, solid and real and alive. He wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes you to him, grunting into the kiss. You nip his lips and jaw and push forward, grinding against his erection.

“Please,” he gasps.

You smirk against his lips as you take the hand with which you’d been touching yourself, still a bit slick, and wrap a loose fist around his cock.

Immediately he sucks in a breath and rolls his hips up into your touch. He breaks the kiss and diverts his lips to your neck, suckling gently as he waits for your next move. His gangly arms wrap around your waist as if he means to grab your ass, but he wisely stops himself before he incurs any further punishment.

You drag your free hand down his chest; his skin is warm and sticky from the late summer afternoon. He whimpers when you pause to tweak his nipples, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare ask for more even though he’s trembling with the want of it.

“Good boy,” you hum. You relish the pleased groan that vibrates against your throat.

You trail the hand back up his torso, feeling the bones jutting against his lanky frame. You caress his throat and give it a brief squeeze, just enough to feel his pulse thrumming against your palm, smirking when his cock twitches in response. Finally, your hand finds a home in his hair and you yank his head back with considerable strength.

“ _Fuuuck_ ,” he groans as he allows you to manhandle him. His hands tighten on your waist and he’s shaking against you, so desperate to feel you, caught between his desire and the need to be good. He’s not good- he’s a brat by definition, but at least, in this moment, he’s trying. You laugh, a breathless, disbelieving sound, because you don’t know what you could have possibly done to deserve a gift as wonderful as this.

You roll your thumb over the tip of his cock and tighten your fist just slightly. The moan that floats through his delicately parted lips could fuel a millennium of dirty fantasies.

With a cruel laugh, you release your hold on both his cock and his hair. Immediately he buries his face in your neck and whines against your skin, rolling his hips in desperation. 

“Please, please, please,” he whispers. His fingers scrabble at the zipper of your jeans and he’s panting against your throat. “Please let me touch you, please-

You reluctantly tug him away from you- the little smack when his lips leave your skin sounds like paradise- and lean back to undo the zipper yourself. “Honestly,” you sigh, “your impatience is-”

He cuts you off with a frenzied kiss as you finally get your pants undone. He shoves them down your thighs with one hand while the other cradles your cheek, anchoring you to him. As soon as your jeans hit the floor, he breaks off only to gasp, “These too?” He tugs at the band of your underwear.

You shake your head and lead him into another kiss, heavy and deep, purposeful, the kind that makes you never want to resurface. It’s the type of kiss you need to take a break from because it’s too much to breathe at the same time, but Klaus doesn’t appear to care much about that. He grunts when you press close enough to cut off his air- if possible, it makes him even hornier. His hands are vices keeping you rooted in his lap.

He does have to breathe some time, and when you finally break the kiss he’s gasping with both oxygen deprivation and desire.

You cup his chin and tilt his face toward you. He’s close enough that you can see the faint freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks, the sweat clinging to his hairline. He stares at you with nothing short of reverence.

“What do you want, baby?” you murmur.

He shudders at the nickname. He loves being your baby, your good boy, and you’re willing to treat him as such- so long as he earns it.

“I want to t-touch you,” he gasps. He rolls his hips against you to emphasize the point.

You let go of his chin to run your fingers through his hair, unconsciously smoothing out the tangles, and his eyes slide half-closed in pleasure. “You can be honest with me,” you say. “I mean it. If there’s something else you want- something more…” Your fingers tighten in his hair and his eyes fly open to meet yours. “You can tell me.”

He groans in equal frustration and pleasure. You give him a little shake. “Words, sweetheart.”

He glances up at you behind the curtain of his eyelashes, and god dammit does that look do it for you. He licks his lips and mumbles, “Please… please can you fuck me?” His eyes flutter shut as he melts into the fantasy. “God, I want it so badly. I’ve been dreaming about it, baby.”

His words hit you like a fucking train. 

The memory of that first time, when you’d caught Klaus touching himself to a dirty dream about you, jumps to the front of your mind. How far you’ve come.

You’ve been holding out for him, waiting until he’s ready, aware that the years of abuse and neglect must be wearing on his psyche. He’s used to being objectified, like being good at sex is the only thing that makes his existence justifiable, and it makes you nauseous. You wish you had the words to tell him that he’s worth _so much more_ than that.

You cup his chin in your hand and look into his eyes as seriously as you can manage. “Are you sure?” you ask. “Because we don’t have to do it just for me to get off. I want you to enjoy it too.” You peck the tip of his nose. “You deserve to be happy.”

He wrinkles his nose but there’s a goofy smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “I know that, silly. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want it.” The smile turns sinuous and he leans closer, lips brushing over your ear as he whispers, “Unless you don’t think you can keep up.”

He pinches the skin of your neck between his teeth and starts to suckle vibrant hickies across your throat, and you gasp. Your hands jump to his waist and squeeze, then wander down, tracing invisible shapes across his skin. When you meet the cleft between his cheeks, your hand diverts course and grabs a healthy portion of flesh.

“Oh shit,” he gasps. A violent shudder rips through his entire body. One hand jumps to your thigh and pulls it toward him as he rolls his hips against it.

You let go of the handful of ass and give the spot a gentle slap. “I take it you’re a fan?” you giggle.

He groans and nuzzles into the side of your neck. “ _Please_ ,” he whimpers.

You gently nudge his head up from its hiding spot in your neck and give him a serious look. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“ _Yes_ , you minx,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Then ask nicely.”

His arms drop to his sides and he rolls his eyes. “Please fuck me?”

You raise an eyebrow in response. He widens his eyes and sticks his lower lip out in a deceptively innocent plea. “Please, sweetheart, utter perfection,” he whimpers, “please fuck my tight little ass?”

You shrug. “Good enough,” you smirk, giving his ass a little slap.

He shoves you off his lap and jumps off the couch with a cheer. “I’ll go get the lube!” he cries and disappears down the hallway.

It’s like all the air is gone from the room. There’s a ringing in your head, a hollowness in your stomach, you’re nothing but an empty shell completely smitten with this boy.

His tongue feels like pure sin against your body. His legs, trembling with arousal, are barely holding him up as he kneels between your thighs and methodically takes you apart with his mouth. His hands twitch where they’re resting over your knees, desperate to give some attention to his neglected cock, but he’s pouring all his concentration into making you come.

Of course, you’re not complaining. They should compose ballads about the incredible things Klaus can do with his mouth.

He glances up at you from beneath seductively lowered lashes and a surge of arousal pulses through you. The lilac hollows underneath his eyes make him look dangerous,  _ hungry _ . You want to give him everything when he gives you that look.

He presses forward, tongue flattening against you in heavy, broad strokes, and your hands jump instinctively to his hair as you let out a gasp.

“Fuck,” you groan, “I forgot how good you are at this.”

He gives you a saucy wink before pressing back into you, purposefully tugging against your grip on his hair. You both moan, the sound vibrating against your flesh and without thinking you open your legs wider for him. 

He lets out a pleased hum as he increases the pressure against your most sensitive part. You just barely have the presence of mind to see he’s now started to jerk himself off while he pleasures you. The sight is so  _ filthy _ , his hand stroking his cock while his tongue drags you to the edge of oblivion, and he’s being such a good boy for you-

It’s wonderful, it’s amazing, it’s a lot, it’s too much but you never want it to stop.

Klaus does something with his mouth that shoots lightning up your spine and you shriek as you arch your back. Your head hits the back of the couch with an audible  _ thump _ and your fingers dig into his scalp.

“ _ Yes _ , Klaus, yes, right there- fuck,” you cry as you grind your hips against his tongue. All facade of control has disappeared and you’re just putty for him to play with. He tilts his head to go  _ deeper _ , and you don’t care about the obscene slurping noises he’s making or the sweat clinging to your back; you’re ignorant of everything but the beautiful way he’s taking you apart.

“So perfect, baby,  _ sooo _ good for me,” you moan. “You like it when I fuck your mouth? You look amazing on your knees, darling, such a good boy.”

He flicks his gaze up to you, the silvery green irises dark and  _ hungry _ , and that’s it.

Your fingers scrabble to grip his hair as the orgasm washes over you. Your spine stiffens and curls inward, thighs widening subconsciously, you can feel every muscle in your body trembling simultaneously as you ride it out. Klaus fucks you right through it, his tongue curling and twisting against you until the overstimulation takes over and you gently push him away.

You collapse back against the couch with a heavy sigh. Your skin is thrumming and alive like you’ve just been struck by lightning, but in a gorgeous, blissed-out kind of way that makes you want to immediately do it again. Your legs are trembling from deep within, straight through to the bone. You don’t feel like standing up again for at least another six hours.

The sound of soft panting slowly draws you from your post-orgasmic stupor. Klaus is still kneeling between your legs, working himself over with a desperate hand. You realize your hands are still tangled in his curls and you give them a teasing yank. He whines and his hand speeds up.

You smirk down at him. “Look at you, getting so horny just from sucking me off,” you chuckle. “You really are a desperate slut.”

His mouth falls open on a low moan and his hips stutter. You wind an errant curl around his finger. “Do you like it when I talk to you like this, baby?” you murmur.

He nods quickly. “Please,” he gasps, “I want more.”

You tsk-tsk at him. “Greedy boy,” you admonish. “Is that what you want? You wanna touch yourself while I tell you how good you are at making me come? Like it when I use you as my own personal fucktoy?”

“Yes, yes. Wanna be used by you,” he moans.

You yank his head back by the hair and he gasps so deeply you fear for a moment that he’s already come. His hand speeds up on his cock, slick and glistening with spit and precome, and your heart swells with mixed desire and affection.

“Pretty boy,” you murmur. Your other hand trails over his cheek, his skin flushed and feverish. “Wish everyone could see you like this. You’re so beautiful when you’re horny, Klaus.” You cup his chin and stroke a thumb over his lower lip. “Do you wanna show off how good you take it? How much of a gorgeous slut you are for me?”

“God, baby, that’s so good,” he whines. “Can I come now please?”

You tilt your head as you consider him. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“I do, I do!”

“You can’t have it both ways, darling.” You flash him a cruel smile. “Either you make yourself come right now, or wait for me to make you come on my cock.” You lean down and whisper against his ear, “I’m finishing you tonight either way.”

He shudders and turns his head for a kiss, but you’re already pulling out of reach. He looks up at you with a sullen pout, hand slowing on his cock. “That’s not fair,” he says.

“Those are your two options,” you reply with a shrug. When he continues to glare at you in silence, you roll your eyes and move to stand. “Or I can just leave you here to jerk off by yourself-”

Before you can register the movement, Klaus leaps up and tackles you back onto the couch. He lands in an awkward straddle over your lap, hands braced against the cushion on either side of your head.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I accept,” he grins. “So, how are we doing this? Cowboy style? Sideways? I think I can manage upside down if we can find a couple more pillows-”

You snake your arms around his narrow waist and dig your fingernails into his asscheeks. “Slow down, sweetheart,” you coo. “First, we need to get you ready.”

He swallows and glances up at you with those huge, wet eyes, so eager and excited it makes your heart stutter. “How?” he whispers.

“I’m going to finger you until you’re begging for my cock.”

The expression that overcomes his face is unmistakably  _ hungry _ . He bites his lip and his eyes flutter half-shut, like he can already imagine how good it will be. “And then what?” he whispers.

You dig your fingers into the meat of his ass and grind up against his dripping cock. He shudders and his elbows buckle with the effort of keeping him up.

“And then,” you murmur, “I’m going to fuck you so well you won’t be able to walk right for a week.”

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” he groans.

He grudgingly climbs off your lap to fetch the lube he’d dropped near the door in his rush to go down on you. He whirls, bottle in hand, and bites his lip as he rakes his eyes unashamedly over your nude body.

“How do you want me?” he whispers.

A surge of arousal pulses through you at those words, combined with his eager obedience and gorgeous body on full display for you.

You pat the couch cushion next to you and instruct him to lie on his back. Once you’ve made sure he’s comfortable, you kneel in front of him on the other cushion and skim your fingers over his inner thighs. Gently, teasingly, you coax his legs up and open.

“Good boy,” you coo. You reward him with a harsh love bite to his inner thigh, right below his cock, and his whole body jerks at the sensation.

“F-fuck. Thank you,” he moans. His arousal is evident by the way his reddened cock twitches and drips precome, but there’s a tension in his muscles that betrays his anxiety.

You lick over the spot you just bit, then trail your tongue further, over his balls and up a vein on the underside of his cock. His breathing becomes labored and his hands jump to the cushion over his head, twisting into the fabric with an alarming grip.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last long enough for you to fuck me,” he whines.

You lift your head just enough to flash him a smirk that sends blood rushing to his cheeks. “Trust me,” you hum, “you won’t have to worry about that.”

Before he can ask for clarification, you’ve slicked up one finger and are gently prodding at his asshole.

He must have fingered himself recently because he takes the first one way too easily. You ease a second finger in alongside it and he lets out a low hum. His teeth sink into his lower lip and he arches his back slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of being stretched.

“How are you doing, baby?” you ask.

“Soooo fucking good,” he moans.

You smirk and scissor your fingers, which prompts a full-body shudder from your pliant lover. He gasps and rolls his hips up into your touch.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit,” he whines. “Feels so good baby, so  _ so _ good. Fuck  _ me _ , god.”

You speed up your thrusts just a bit, just to wring more of those beautiful sounds out of him. When your other hand reaches up to tug at one of his nipples, he lets out a keen that makes you feel like your blood has been replaced with champagne.

You smirk down at his gorgeous, writhing body. “Naughty boy, you’re taking two fingers so well. Did you play with yourself without me?” you tease.

His eyes jump to yours and look, for a moment, fearful. “I…” He swallows with considerable effort. “Yes,” he mumbles. “Are you going to punish me?”

“Depends.” You walk your fingers up his chest and they come to rest over his throat, not exercising any pressure yet. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

His eyes go wide and he nods eagerly.

Your chest aches with a heady cocktail of affection and desire at how submissive he’s being for you. Carefully, holding his gaze in case he changes his mind, you shift your weight to the hand against his throat.

“Color?” you whisper.

“So green.”

You tighten your grip enough to stifle the blood flow to his head. His Adam’s apple bobs against your palm and you can feel the rapid thrumming of his pulse. 

He buries his teeth in his lower lip and flexes his hands into the couch cushions to stop himself from grabbing your arm and just fucking himself on your fingers. He’s really trying to be a good boy for you.

“Feels so good love, please,” he groans breathlessly.

“Please what?” you murmur. “Please speed up? Please fuck you? You gotta use your words, baby.” You give his throat a playful squeeze. 

You can feel his anxious swallow ripple across your palm. “Please… another.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You want a third finger? Think you’re ready for it?”

He nods enthusiastically and that’s all you need before you’re pulling out to coat your fingers in a fresh layer of lube before shoving three back inside.

You don’t exactly have much to compare it to, but you already know that his ass is your favorite. It’s so warm and tighter than you’d ever believe, yet he accepts your fingers so eagerly, so slick and pliant and  _ open _ it’s goddamn obscene. You love it.

Klaus arches his back and rolls his hips up into your next thrust. You let go of his throat to deliver a gentle slap to his inner thigh, and he whines at both the loss of pressure and the sting. Not to be deterred from his orgasm, he reaches for his reddened and neglected cock, but you snatch his wrist away before he can get two strokes in.

“Baaaabe,” he pouts. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? You feel so incredible, I’m only human-”

You plant your free hand on the cushion beside his face so you can lean over him, your lips just inches away from his own. He falls silent and stares up at you with awe.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” you tell him. “You’re gonna lie back while I fuck you with my fingers. You’re going to come without touching your cock.” He opens his mouth to argue and you quickly add, “And if you do it prettily enough, I’ll let you ride me as long and hard as you want.”

You’re pretty sure you can see his soul physically leaving his body. He slumps back onto the cushion and stretches his arms above his head, fingers gripping onto the pillow in preparation.

“Please,” he whispers.

He allows you to fold his legs up so his knees are nearly pressing into his chest, presenting his perfect ass for you. You coat your fingers with a fresh layer of lube and he accepts the first two greedily. Before you give him a third, however, you’re going to need him to beg a little more.

“How much do you want me to fuck you?” you hum, casually, like you’re talking about the goddamn weather. Klaus shudders at your words.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, baby, Christ,” he moans. He arches his neck, showing off the hickies painted along his throat and the ferocious cut of his collarbones. “Please let me worship you, divine creature.”

A thrill rushes through your center. “What would you do for me to add one more finger?”

“Anything. I’d eat you out until you had no more breath to tell me to stop. I’d let you gag me and whip me and tie me up. I’d bleed for you, I’d kill for you,” he gasps, “anything you want, tell me and I’ll do it.”

Without further ceremony, you thrust a third finger past his entrance and curl your fingertips up against his prostate. His reaction is immediate, chest heaving and torso writhing with the force of the brutal, naughty pleasure shooting through his body. His mouth drops open in a noiseless scream, breath caught on the edge of the orgasm he’s so very close to falling over. 

“More, more, please god more,” he whines.

You oblige him with a smirk that makes him gasp, trembling under the weight of your dominant stare. His fingers are surely sore by now with how hard he’s gripping onto the cushions in an effort to keep from touching himself. 

“What a good boy. You’re being so obedient for me, I love it,” you praise him. His taut expression relaxes a bit at the sound of your voice and he searches out your face, desperate to hold onto you through the haze of his arousal.

“You magnificent deity, please t-talk to me more,” he sniffs. “Tell me how good I’m being.”

“ _ So _ perfect for me, my darling boy,” you gasp. “You feel so wonderful, like the most obedient little fucktoy. You’re following orders so well, I’m so proud of you.” Your free hand lightly cups his balls. “Can’t wait to fuck you.” 

You drink in the delicious moan he lets out. He’s so pretty, thighs trembling with the effort of holding still for you, stomach muscles flexing and rippling as he soars toward his orgasm. His skin is flushed the most gorgeous shade of pink, almost as dark as the head of his neglected cock. Sweat and tears of overstimulation mingle on his cheeks and smear what’s left of last night’s eye makeup, making him look feral, and so soul-achingly beautiful that there are no earthly words to express it.

“How close are you, darling? I want to make you come.” You can barely squeeze the words through the tightening of your throat, so enamored you are with the desperate, writhing man below you.

“I’m going insane, dearest. My love, my heart,” he gasps, “please let me come!”

You obey without hesitation. Your fingers grind against his prostate in harsh, unrelenting circles until he comes apart with a high-pitched keen. His legs widen subconsciously, arching back against the cushions, torn between squirming in pleasure and gasping for breath. A tendon strains in his neck and his eyes are cemented shut, every nerve focused on riding out his high for as long as he can.

When he finally collapses back against the couch, there is a small puddle of milky fluid pooling on his stomach. You carefully withdraw your fingers and wipe them on your leg.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” Klaus sighs. He leans up on his elbows and smirks at you. “Who knew such a sweet, innocent ghosty would have it in them?”

You shrug and start to climb off the couch. “Oh, well if you don’t want me to fuck you anymore then I’ll just-”

He grabs your arm and yanks you back down for a bruising kiss. “Nuh-uh, you’re not going anywhere,” he breathes against your lips.

You giggle and grind down against his erection, making him moan pitifully and buck his hips. The sound turns to a whine when he feels the hardness that meets his own.

“Christ, I need you in me,” he pants.

“So greedy,” you chide him. “Tell me, Klaus, have you always been this much of a desperate cockslut, or am I just a bad influence?”

If possible, the blush on his cheeks deepens at the gentle scolding. “Are you going to make me beg again? ‘Cause I’ll be honest, if you keep talking like that I may not last much longer for you.”

Hot arousal shoots up your spine like an electric shock. Yeah, you are definitely going to have to try talking Klaus to orgasm some time. Right now, though, you’re so keyed up you’re not sure how much longer you can deny yourself the pleasure of sinking into that magnificent ass.

You push yourself up and Klaus whines at the loss of you, but stops when you shoot him a commanding glare. You settle yourself against the back of the couch and pat your thigh, an unspoken order which he obeys with comical enthusiasm. Once you have him on your lap, though, he gets uncharacteristically shy, fidgeting with his hands and holding himself stiff (pun intended) above your thighs.

“Are you really gonna fuck me?” he mumbles, a sheen of hope in his eyes.

You give him a genuine smile and cup his chin in one hand. “Only if you want me to, baby. Do you?”

He nods quickly. You tighten your hold on his chin and give him a tiny shake. “I need verbal confirmation, please.”

“Yes,” he says. His teeth worry his lower lip in anticipation.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me!”

You stroke your thumb over his jaw, savoring the moment. “How?”

“I want to ride you, please. Please fuck me before I go insane,” he whines.

Those words coming from kiss-bitten lips, his pleading eyes framed by his sweaty curls still in a tangle from his previous orgasm just minutes before, make something tremble and swell inside you. You drag him into a kiss that burns, making his lips red to match the hickies you’re about to add to his neck. His tongue dances against yours, sweet like ambrosia, the most sinfully decadent thing you’ve ever tasted.

Your hands jump to his thighs and you break away only to ask him one more time if he wants this, to which he gasps a needy  _ please _ against your lips before pushing his hips into your touch. His movements are quick and desperate, but you’re aware he must be sensitive and even though you want nothing more than to thrust up into that tight heat and go until you’re sated, you force yourself to enter him carefully.

It’s tight, so much tighter than it was with just your fingers, but the prep really did help. He moans and throws his arms around your shoulders, chest to chest, his entire body trembling like a bowstring as he adjusts. The kiss loses its rhythm and becomes a simple intermingling of air, your bodies and breath indistinguishable from one another, completely enraptured by the sensation of him sinking onto your cock.

When you finally bottom out, the both of you release a breath in tandem. Klaus’s erection presses against your stomach, heavy and dripping, the muscles of his ass flexing against you and you know he wants you to move but it’s all you can do to keep from  _ coming right now _ .

His impatience takes over and he starts to grind back, but your hands immediately jump to his bony hips to keep him still. He leans back so he can look at you, eyes damp and too desperate to voice what he wants. He mouths a second, noiseless  _ please _ .

You grit your teeth, set your jaw, and cant your hips up in a slow, purposeful grind. Klaus hisses and instinctively clenches, forcing a surprised grunt from your lungs. You couldn’t imagine that he could get any tighter, but miracle of miracles, your boy has managed to surprise you once again.

“It feels so good. More please,” he moans. He reaches back to brace his hands against your knees, shaking with the great effort of not fucking himself back on you.

“I need a minute, Christ,” you whisper.

His eyes light up and he gives you a sinuous grin. “Oh? And here I thought you could keep up with me.” He rolls his hips again, luxuriating in the sensation and the sight of your jaw going slack. He bites his lip as he repeats the motion, until he’s gently fucking himself on you.

The brilliant euphoria painted across his features is too much for you and you have to look away. The sight between your legs, however, is equally hypnotizing, and your blood fizzes like champagne as you watch your cock sink into him again and again. 

You catch a glimpse of the hickey you’d left on his inner thigh and are struck by a visceral need to mark him again. He squeaks in surprise when you wrap your arms around his waist and tug him toward you, then he relaxes into the hold as you begin to mouth at his neck. You tease the skin with just the tips of your teeth and he encourages you with a deep belly groan and fingernails digging into your sides.

The place where your teeth dig into his flesh is absolute divinity. You worship the spot with quick, needle-sharp kisses before soothing over it with a lick. Klaus whimpers and thrusts his hips once, a little too demanding to be polite, but you’re so taken with him you obey the unspoken plea to suck a hickey onto his neck. He whines and trembles through it, and when you pull away, the skin is flushed a violent red.

“Pretty boy,” you murmur before pressing a kiss over the forming bruise. He shudders against you. “Oh, you like it when I say that?” you tease. He nods. “Which part do you like?”

He squirms in your lap and tries to bury his face in your neck, but you stop him by digging your nails into his ass cheeks. “I asked you a question.”

Slowly, ashamedly, he sits up and glances at you with teary green eyes. “I l-like it when you call me p-pretty,” he whispers.

You reward him by wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it, my pretty boy?” you coo. He bites his lip and nods quickly. His stomach quivers with the need to fuck up into your fist and anticipation of the pleasure awaiting him. He’s so beautiful like this, so pliant and needy for your touch, that you feel like you’re going to fly out of your skin. It’s too hot, and also perfect, and you absolutely need more of it.

You start fucking him again, slowly, while your hand strokes him at a lethargic pace. His hands fly up to your chest and push, giving him just the slightest bit of leverage to meet your thrusts. In moments he’s panting, precum slicking the slide of your hand, and each of the tiny, breathy moans that escapes his lips brings you ever closer to the brink of your orgasm. You’re taken with him, with every sound and every movement he makes, and the need to tell him how amazing he looks seizes you with a fervor.

“I’ve been dreaming of fucking you for so long, baby. This is even hotter than I imagined,” you groan. His head tilts back as he lets out a keen.

“Please,” he begs, “please don’t stop. I’ve wanted this for so-  _ fuck _ \- long.”

“Oh? You were dreaming of me too?” You can’t help the mischief that creeps into your smile. “How long have you wanted it?”

“Since the first moment I saw you,” he gasps. 

Heat rushes to your face so quickly it makes you dizzy, and for a moment you forget to move. Klaus quickly reminds you, of course, by bucking up into your hand. You punish him by letting go entirely only to give his balls a warning squeeze hard enough to make him moan.

“ _ Darling _ ,” you hiss in a mocking tone, “don’t get too cocky, now. Remember who’s in charge.”

“Y-yes master,” he whimpers, and the title sends a spike of arousal through you that  _ burns _ .

You press a sweet kiss to his cheek and resume your steady stroking. “That’s a good boy,” you coo. You relish his muffled groan.

“C-can I come soon, please?” he whispers.

You lean back against the couch and regard him carefully. The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window gives him a kind of radiance, making him appear more angel than human. Everything about him, from the little flush high up on his cheeks, to the heaving of his chest, to the rivulet of precome glistening on his cock sings of the most unholy debauchery. You want to  _ ravish _ him, spoil every inch of flesh and savor the taste of his lust. He may be a brat, but he is still your good boy, your perfect boy, and he deserves lovely things.

Besides, it is your first time together. It ought to be special for him.

“Soon, dear one, soon,” you assure him, and that makes him relax a bit. He trails his hands down your torso with an appreciative touch, stopping at your hips.

“Are you close too?” he murmurs.

And honestly, you want to say no, but the way he clenches around you every time you thrust and the naked desire in his every movement has you much closer to your end than you would like. You set your jaw and nod once.

Klaus’s lips slide into a gleeful grin. “In that case,” he purrs, “I want you to come inside me.”

His words are like a suckerpunch. Immediately all the air leaves your lungs and you feel high on the oxygen deprivation, dizzy with lust for this debauched little man and all the things he does to you. 

He must take your silence for agreement, as he moves his hands to grip your shoulders so he has enough leverage to fuck himself faster on you. His eyes slam shut and a stream of quiet moans and curses begins to flow from his lips. The sensation of him riding you like this is fucking  _ amazing _ , and you take a few moments to just admire the sight of him on your lap.

“You’re  _ so _ pretty when you’re getting fucked, Klaus. Nothing compares to this,” you hum affectionately. You run a thumb over the seam of his lips and he quickly gets the message, sucking the digit into his mouth. “Oh, and smart, too. I can see I’ve trained you well.”

He moans and slides his tongue over your thumb, and even though it’s just a finger, not even anything overtly sexual, but the way he bobs his head like he’s sucking you off might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

A sudden rush of heat between your legs makes you realize how close you really are to your orgasm and you quickly draw your thumb out of his mouth before you lose it. He whines and pants in your lap, pretty pink tongue pressing against swollen red lips, and you feel like you’re about to combust.

“That’s a good boy. So good for me,” you moan. “I’m gonna come soon. Want me to come in your tight little asshole?”

“Please!” he mewls.

You drag him into a violent kiss that makes your heart stutter. You press every bit of love and adoration and desire you have for him into the bruises on his lips. His fingers tighten against your shoulders to the point of pain but it just adds to all the other marvelous, chaotic sensations muddying your brain. You abandon your motions over his cock to grab his waist in both hands and  _ pull _ , anchoring his hips to yours as you plant your feet and fuck up into the gorgeous tight heat, not even conscious of what you’re doing anymore, just chasing the high as you slowly, slowly crest that peak.

Klaus whines into the kiss, grinding back to meet your thrusts, and the thought that you’re finally fucking him, finally making him feel good and driving him to beg and moan for you- your head feels light.

“I’m gonna come for you, baby,” you gasp.

“Do it. Come in me, wanna feel you, Christ  _ please _ -”

Everything whites out as you finally reach your peak. You dig your teeth and nails into Klaus’s flesh as your entire body convulses with the indescribable pleasure rushing through you. You’re distantly aware that you must be hurting him, but it just feels so primally  _ good _ that you can’t make yourself let go.

Finally, the intense feeling ebbs from your limbs and you collapse against the back of the couch, heaving and trembling. Klaus bites his lip as he rakes his gaze over your body.

“So gorgeous when you come,” he moans. “Please, can I-?”

You start to reach for his cock, but he grabs your wrist with a small smirk. You raise an eyebrow in question, but he simply raises your wrist to his face, kissing it, before placing your hand over his throat.

A fresh spike of desire lights up your heart, and you return his smirk easily. You tighten your grip on his throat incrementally, focusing on the spot that will just cut off the blood to his brain without impeding his oxygen intake. He shudders and his eyes roll back as he starts to move again. You bite your lip against the overstimulation and focus on making him feel good, letting him use you. 

“Baby, talk to me,” he pleads.

You chuckle darkly. “God, Klaus, you’re always so pretty when you beg,” you coo. “Even prettier when you were begging me to come in you.” You trail your free hand over his ass cheek, dancing teasingly close to his entrance. “Do you like being a submissive slut for me? Like being owned by me? Say it.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours. My body is yours. No one else fucks me like you do, lover,” he whines.

Something animalistic thunders in your chest. You tighten your grip on his throat and roll your hips into his thrusts. “Such an obedient pet. Are you going to come from me choking you while you sit on my cock?”

“Yes!” he gasps, sweaty and red-faced.

“Then come.”

He bucks his hips furiously just a few more times before his orgasm overtakes him. His entire body tightens like a marionette, stiff and shaking as it roars over him. A warbling moan escapes his lips, and then he collapses against you, spent.

You allow him to pant atop you as he comes down, sticky chest heaving against your own. His arms snake around your waist and he buries his nose in your neck, taking a deep breath of your scent. It seems to calm him, like a balm, relaxing all the taut lines of his body.

When he finally pulls off of you, you almost resent the rush of cold air that greets you. It is quickly forgotten when Klaus plops onto the couch and snuggles into your side.

“So that might have just been the hottest thing I’ve ever done,” he says.

You snort and reach up to brush a curl out of his eyes. “I’m flattered, but I would think that’s quite tame compared to what you’re used to.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but I’ve never done it with someone I loved.”

Something seizes up in you, like a jenga tower on the brink of collapse, because you’re sure he couldn’t possibly mean what you think you just heard. He seems to realize it at the same moment as you, because he quickly sits up and stares at you with the trepidation of a cornered animal.

“Not that I- that is, not to say that I  _ don’t _ -” He winces and turns his gaze sadly to his lap. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what-”

“I love you too.”

Before the words left your mouth, you couldn’t have imagined saying them to him, but the moment they leave you you know that nothing has ever been more true. 

Klaus glances up, emotion bare on his face, and the hope in his eyes makes you melt. “You do?” he asks.

In answer, you surge forward and kiss him with all the pent-up adoration you’ve been hoarding since the day he first summoned you through that old Ouija board.

When you pull apart, he’s staring at you like you’re a rare treasure, something precious and holy to him. He gives you a gentle smile and presses his forehead to yours. For a few moments you stay like that, eyes closed, savoring the heat of his skin and his breath tickling over yours. Then something occurs to you.

“We should probably tell Ben,” you whisper.

“Mmm. Or,” he hums, dragging his lips along your jaw, “we could worry about that later and make out some more.”

“You’re insatiable,” you tease him as he climbs into your lap. He swallows your next quip with a burning kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Chapter title is from Sugar by The Orion Experience.


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